Last night around midnight, I found myself bumping around in the kitchen pouring corn syrup and scraping peanut butter out of measuring cups. It’s been a while since I’ve made a late night through baking. But this was an exceptional occasion. My birthday girl had requested “Special K” bars for her birthday treat at school. So into the kitchen I went, spreading and rinsing and wiping and cutting. Though I had other things I could have been doing, I felt content waking up in the morning knowing I had undertaken this late-night labor of love.
Sunday, a bowling party with friends; today, the real anniversary of my first daughter’s entrance into the world. I remember the first birthday well. A dinner out with her father at an Italian buffet, the sudden realization that time was running out, a bumpy ride to the hospital, and then, an hour after midnight, a new baby, pink and crying, then quiet, eyes looking around the room from the warmer, a precious miracle. And then singing with our priest, who had come to watch her entrance and bless her, accompanied by curious glances from the nurses, including one who smiled knowingly. This all happened exactly the same time I was making Special K bars last night, eleven years before.
Today, I signed her out of school and we headed downtown to take part in a mother-daughter birthday lunch. We swapped an asparagus and chicken salad, a sandwich and chicken dumpling soup, then shared a piece of rhubarb pie. After a trip to the library, she was back at school, doling out Special K bars, and later, we enjoyed a family meal together with her favorite entree, lasagna.
Dear Daughter, I hope you had a special day. I love you! Mom